Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The electrical shock stings through the closed metal room. 6:33 pm.

🎸`- , _ . - ashley -

Ashley wakes up, anxiously looking around. There are mountains of papers, documents, and whatnot on the kitchen table in front of her. The memories of Sal's execution are coming back more often, especially after Todd and Neil's disappearance. The only thing that is helping her keep her sanity is Gizmo, Sal's cat, which refuses to leave his room in Todd's house. She stands up from the kitchen table, and rubs her eyes.

She slowly drags herself to the bathroom to wash up, before going back to the kitchen. She goes to clear out some of the papers, to try and maybe find some new information and evoke some sudden knowledge for her to finally figure out a plan and stop The Devours Of God once and for all, but of course, she finds nothing.

She goes to Sal's room, to refill Gizmos's food and water.

"Hey there buddy, how are you doing?"

...

"You know, you could react once in a while at my attempts to talk to you."

"Meow......rrrr.."

"Maybe a bit friendlier?"

...

"How did Sal put up with you..."

She trudges herself back to the kitchen, this time looking at the TV's date.

August 27.

She sighs quietly, picking at her skin. She can't go one day without remembering something bad.

Don't get her wrong, Larry wasn't a bad person at all, but his actions sure were. As Sal said to her numerous times, he was sure that Larry killed himself, and that Sal didn't kill him that night. It still gets all blurred with her thoughts anyway. The blood on Sal's clothes, Todd sitting there terrified, open scars and wounds showing through his clothes, Larry no where to be seen, the police shoving Sal into the car.

These type of memories make her wonder how she hasn't killed herself yet. But, no good ever comes from just sitting around and thinking about the past, so she decides to just shove it all back into her mind as she always does.

As she's sort of cleaning up the mess that has lied there for who knows how long, the doorbell rings. She immediately drops everything she was doing at that very moment, and almost falls through the door.

The mailman has already left, as she runs to the mailbox. The throws the usual shit everyone gets in the mail on the ground. Newspaper, taxes, ads for new and uprising companies, coupons, and finally, T.A.P. What exactly is T.A.P? Or more importantly, who is T.A.P? She doesn't really give a fuck. As long as the information they are sending about the cult is real and not some way to make her fall into their trap.

She runs back through the house, and into the shed Neil built for them for all of their evidence and info about the cult. She pins the opened letter up with the numerous other letters and other shit that hang on the wooden wall.

She steps back to look around the shed. All of its walls, and even some of the ceiling is covered in pictures, writings, and other 'very important shit', as Sal once said to Larry when they first introduced him to this abomination. To be fair, it does look like all of it is important and useful, but trying to find the actual information that you are looking for is nearly impossible.

She checks her flip phone for any new messages from anyone, and she finds nothing. What would she find? Sal texting her from 6 feet under?

Ugh. Why does she keep thinking about him? Every single thing she does, thinks, or hears about, it all leads back to Sal.

They were always close, but not close enough to go to each other's house each night, or talk about the latest album made by Sanity's Fall. Sure, they were good friends, but she wondered either ways if he saw her that way too.

|`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,|

A little while before the night of the murders, Sal and Ashley went over to Nockfell's river. It was a quiet and very large open space. It was the first time in a while since Sal had seen Ashley, but they were both equally glad to finally be able to talk with each other again.

"You cut your hair?" Sal exclaimed, as he stepped out of the house.

"I could say the same thing for you, no more pigtails?"

They laughed together as they both pulled each other into a heartfelt hug.

Ashley had seen Sal's face before, way back in high school, but Sal was still a little weary about taking off his mask. As they both sat at the river though, the cool, autumn breeze was too good to keep his mask on. Ashley usually started the conversation, and that didn't bother him. He was always a little shy with her anyway.

"I heard Lisa and Henry got married, good for them, oh and you guys! How does it feel to be step-brothers?"

"Well when you say it like that, weird."

"Why? You've been so close ever since you guys met! I could never invite one of you without the other one joining in on our plans! Not in a mean way, obviously."

"Truth is, we've grown apart recently"

She makes an audible gasp. "Whaaaat?! That's impossible!" But before she can continue, Sal interrupts her.

"We're not in high school anymore, why are you so surprised?"

"So what-" but Sal interrupts her again

"And enough about me, how are you doing?"

Ashley never felt closer to him. But after seeing him that following night...

She knew something was up with him when he called her at midnight. It wasn't unlike Sal for him to stay up so late, saying he had insomnia and frequent nightmares, but the tone in his voice made her anxious. He didn't sound like himself, especially with his sobbing or the mumbled words about Larry. She didn't know what to do. She thought he finally got better, after all of those sleepovers turning into horror stories when he would wake up randomly from some horror story of his own, but she guessed not.

She held her phone in her hands for a while after he hanged up the call. She knew the police never truly did anything in Nockfell, but she was worried. Worried for Sal. Worried, about everything. So she slowly dialed 911 as carefully as she could with her fingers shaking as she pressed each button.

|`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,|

As she drove away on her motorcycle towards the cemetery, her thoughts were spiraling. What was she thinking? Or maybe what was he thinking... it never really made sense to her of all the events that happened that night. The following 5 years weren't the most funnest either. The endless court cases, the limited talks she had with him through the barricaded glass, Neil and her worried sick about what Sal was saying. Even though, it all sounded stupid back then, she wished she listened to him more.

She parked her motorcycle and slowly made her way to the entrance of the small cemetery. The sun had already set, and the air was thick and damp with bad memories and thoughts. She stared through the gates at all of the graves lined crookedly along the muddy grass.

The walks across all of the loved-ones of different people who died and through the countless trees that stand tall, even for the horrible weather that Nockfell brings. She stops every so often to look at all of the newly placed flowers, compared to the old ones who were already decaying and dying themselves, that no one even cares to touch. 

She finally get's to the cemeteries newest addition.

She stops to clean off the dirt and moss that has accumulated over the past year's on every grave. Every grave that belongs to someone who died that night. She spends extra time on Larry's and Sal's parents, Lisa and Henry. Their graves far away from their children's.

She slows her pace as she steps closer to Larry's. She spends at least an hour, looking at all of the pictures and paintings that lean on his grave. Some that she does't remember putting, and some that almost bring her to tears. She knows that she came to cemetery for him, but Sal will not get out of her mind.

She stands up and wipes the dirt from her jeans as she goes to Sal's grave, the farthest one. It is a pretty big distance away from all the other graves, which makes it even more rejected and miserable to even look at. His mask lies right below it, and nothing else. No photos, no quotes, no paintings, nothing. Just his one and only truly prized possession he would never leave behind. The way he looked at it right before the executioners threw it on the ground before they sat him in the electric chair. The way he looked at it even in high school, when Ashley fixed up his bruise that Travis left behind.

The way she looks at it now, reminding her of all the times he spent with her and whatnot. 

𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦, 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥. She says to herself.

Chapter Text

"I bet it's tough being the son of such an intense man."

"You have no idea what it's like."

🎸`- , _ . - travis -

Travis's head rings. He lies on the cold, rigid stone floor, with nothing but his cult robe to cover him. With no normal food or water, no wonder his head hurts. The enclosed space that he's in consists of a mattress, which is probably rotting, a dresser, and a frame with no photo in it. It was just like his old room in the church, before his dad forced him to move down here in this hell hole. Although the conditions are very poor and bad, one thing is true, and that is that Kenneth has been ever so kinder as much as he can be towards him. With him now joining the Devours Of God, Kenneth has made sure to keep every single eye he possible can on Travis, to make sure everything goes according to plan, and that Travis doesn't try anything sketchy.

As always, strict parents raise sneaky kids, so all of Kenneth's attempts to make Travis truly 'locked' in here break apart easily.

He stands up slowly, his head spinning even more than it did before. The only thing that he can truly do besides preform cult rituals or talk with the other cultists, is read some cult-made bible that was probably made in the 1700's, given it's historic English language and grammar in it, and dwell on his own thoughts, not that anything truly comes to mind anyway. Except him.

Sal was probably the most nicest person he's ever met. And that annoyed him in many ways. Like when they were both in high school, and they were seated next to each other, Sal would always help him with notes, or upcoming tests, and that made Travis mad. Mad that he couldn't help him in any way. Mad that Sal willingly helped the guy who punched him in the face just days before. Mad that he still talked to him even though he called him the f slur numerous times. But all of that anger just led to sadness, and unknown, yet nostalgic feelings.

Sal reminded him of the days when they were all just kids, running around and looking at the sun too long. He reminded him for the friendship he once had with Larry, the one that fell apart too quickly and roughly. He reminded him of the banana bread his mom used to bake him before she disappeared mysteriously, as his father said. He reminded him of almost everything that he once had but never treasured enough, like the memories before his mom left and Kenneth started being an asshole. 

This made his head hurt even more. Or maybe it was just the lack of fresh air and sleep that he was getting. He didn't care anymore. He knew that he couldn't sleep because he didn't have enough food, and getting more food would mean going to the whole other side of the headquarters and asking Kenneth to feed his only child. It's not like he would refuse, saying that Kenneth appointed him as the second most important person in the process of the cult's activities after himself, it's the fact that Travis would have to see his disgusting face, and be reminded of all of the years of torment that his father has put him through.

He didn't even know what day it was. Or month, or year, or hour. To a normal person, this would probably evoke some sort of worry in them, but Travis was used to these type of conditions. Feeling sick constantly, not being able to stand up normally, his head spinning, fatigue, these were all very normal things for him. You could've guessed by now that he isn't a very normal person. He wondered when everything went downhill. Was it after his mom left? No, Kenneth was still pretty normal... high school? The beatings got worse after high school, not during. Maybe it was when he started being more serious about being a so called 'pastor'? But he was always pretty serious about religion...

And for what? All of these years, screaming, and beating, and nearly killing him just for what? To come out as being an actual cult leader and all of that christian bullshit was just a cover up? Sometimes he thought if Kenneth was normal, would he be normal too? Would him and Larry still be friends? Would he and Sal not had to die? 

He sat down on his mattress. The endless rampage of questions rushing through his mind didn't make anything better. But he was truly powerless when it came to controlling his thoughts. These questions often just fueled his rage even more, his rage at anything and everything. Why could Larry kill himself but Travis couldn't, what made him so sad and depressed that he could just go and end his life? It didn't seem fair. Travis had it way more harder than him, he thought so at least. Larry had a whole group of friends, that always had each other's backs, so what gave him the right to just give up on everything and end it?

He released his grasp on his poorly cared for dyed hair that he didn't even realize he was holding on to. He had enough of his minds bullshit. He stormed out of his 'room', though it was more of some olden time chamber if you really looked at it from a normal perspective, and plodded through the passage ways of the basement that connected the Phelps Ministry and Addison Apartments. His fingers tracing each cold brick along the wall as he slowly tried not to stumble and fall with his weak condition.

He hears someone call out his name as he is stumbling in and out of consciousness.

"Travis!"

He turns his head to look at the person. His head feeling as if some pearl is rolling around in there.

Kenneth soon approaches him, almost grabbing him by his chin, but immediately realizing what he was trying to do and instead holds his sons shoulders.

"What the hell? How much fucking times have I told you to just come here if you even feel slightly under the weather?" He says, his expression cold but worry creeps into his tone.

"Why the fuck do you suddenly care so much if your son isn't being fed well or being sick..." Travis replies, coughing multiple times in the midst of his sentence.

Kenneth sighs. "We've been over that son-" Travis cuts him off harshly.

"Don't call me that."

Kenneth stares at Travis for a while before releasing his grip on him. He then guides him to the more modernized part of the basement that actually kind of looks like a house, where most of the cult members are. He makes Travis sit on one of the chairs before going into the kitchen. This type of behavior from Kenneth makes Travis want to strangle that mother fucker. It's because of Kenneth, that he can't properly take care of himself. It's because of Kenneth that Travis has an eating disorder and will never have a good body image of himself, especially with all of the scars that he has left behind. So why in fuck's sake does Kenneth suddenly remember he has a son and not some servant? 

"Eat." Kenneth says as he basically slams the plate down onto the table in front of Travis and walks away, towards the other cult members.

Travis stares at the plate. To be honest, it does look better than any of the other shit that Kenneth tried to feed him, but if he eats it, he knows that he is just gonna throw it all back up due to his condition right now. Why did he come here in the first place? He could've just stayed in that closed off room and wait for someone to find him on his last breaths. He wishes sometimes that he was the one to kill himself and not Larry. 

He stands up after a while and throws most of the food on his plate away, only eating a small piece of toast and some peppers. He goes to another room that's across the kitchen, and up the stairs. He goes into the print room and sits down at the small desk. He writes as much as he can with his hands and fingers shaking like crazy, and tries write everything that the cult members have been talking about recently. He hopes that Ashley is actually getting his letters, as all of his effort would then be for nothing. He then sets his letter into a small envelope and signs it, T.A.P, or if not abbreviated, Travis Archbishop Phelps. Even giving away some simple information as his initials is already risky, knowing that if any of the cults members find out, he would definitely be granted his wish of death.

He goes up even more stairs, and through the back entrance, fast but quietly running to shove the letter into the mailbox. He has to stop for a while before going back to that copy paste of a prison and catch his breath, but before he does, he looks up at the rising sun. The clouds almost forming the shape of heat lighting, running outside the window. He stares at the reddish orange sky for a bit before returning back. He makes sure to leave no trace of him and goes back to his room, ignoring the cultists chatter and Kenneth's questioned if he actually ate or if he just threw the food out.

He lies back down onto his mattress, moving his hair away from his face and facing the wall. He closes his eyes, hoping for sleep, but sleep never comes.

|`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,|

It's 1990, and Travis is sitting in math, sitting and staring up at the ceiling like some fucking philosopher. He has never been good at school, or anything really, but math makes him want to just bang his head against the wall till he bleeds out a pool of blood. First of all, why would any one need to explain why a triangle is a triangle? Secondly, it doesn't help that he has no friends and absolutely no way of studying for school. His eyes slowly wander all across the room. To the random geography map in Ms. Packerton's room, to the crushed pencils on the ground, and to that blue-haired boy. His first impression of Sal was that he was a girl. I mean, come on. Pigtails? Blue hair? Short? His god-damn name? Who names a boy, Sal? 

His second thought was that he was transgender, because no way in hell does a guy have a deep voice and wears pigtails, REGULARLY. This made Sal an even easier target for Travis to tease on and bully, as easy as it can be with Larry and Ashley constantly hovering around him. 

He stares at Sal for a good while. Even though he wears that stupid prosthetic mask everywhere, Travis still finds something in him that he admires. The way he doodles on his paper, or when he allegedly isn't paying attention but ends up outsmarting the teacher. Travis knew these feelings were strange, and probably wrong, but he couldn't care less. Unless Kenneth makes some mind-reading device that writes down all of Travis' thoughts on a piece of lined paper, then he should be good.

"Mr Phelps, no copying off of Fisher's work!" Ms. Packerton yells at Travis.

Travis immediately turns his head back. He wasn't even looking at his paper, and what now, he isn't allowed to just stare at someone? How in the fuck's sake could he have been even copying him? His desk is three desks away from Sal's.

Whatever. He doesn't give a fuck about him anyways.

Right?

A little while after math and lunch, he finds Sal in the hallway, obviously with Ashley. Travis goes onto tease and bully him as he always does, and Sal just responds with equally snarky comments, but one especially triggers him.

"You kiss your daddy with that tongue? I'm sure he-" Sal says, right before he is delivered a punch by Travis, straight to his face.

Travis' relationship with his father has never been great, it's like his dad forgets that he is his son, and instead is just some stupid lapdog that will do whatever he says, because, even though it is hard for him to admit, he knows it's true. He will follow every command that his father tells him to do, all to escape a beating from him.

Ashley calls after him, but Travis just runs to the bathroom. Another thing to hate about himself that was caused by Kenneth. He always has to hurt the people he cares about, even the one's that he has only spoken to once, he will always find some sort of way to hurt them, no matter the mental or physical damage. Travis runs to the last stall in the bathroom, almost falling face first into the bathroom's wall with his head spinning so much. Again? He thinks to himself. His migraines have been only getting worse, and with no medication, he can't stop them from happening. He pulls the note he scribbled on a piece of paper from math and goes to throw it away, not noticing that it missed the trash can, before  going back to the stall and slumping down and burying his face in his hands. 

He hears someone step into the bathroom. He doesn't mind it, or even register that some one is here, with his head feeling like it is going to explode.

His conversation with Sal is fainted and tinted with pangs of hurt and gashing wounds of the countless reminders of how they got there in the first place. The only things he can clearly remember is the mentions of Kenneth, and how much of a vigorous pastor he is. He hated how Sal described him, like he was a little nuisance, when in reality he was the biggest and worst thing in Travis' life.

|`,`,`,`,`,`,`,`,|

Travis coughs up the dry air that he has been breathing in for who knows how long. The times he is actually blessed with sleep, his dreams just turn into recaps of the horrible situations that have happened, that maybe, he could've stopped from ending up as they did back then. And almost all of them are filled with Sal. Oh, that bitch, he thought. What happened to him that night? That night when he dragged himself out of the church, several bones showing and many severe wounds bleeding out from his arms, legs, and back. Only because Sal told him that he could come over anytime if he needed a place to get away from his dad for a while. Well, here he was. Staring at the police cars and Sal being handcuffed against the hood of one of them like an idiot. 

He wondered if Sal saw him that night. Bleeding, bruised up, as he was being shoved into that car. If Sal even did think about him, what difference would it have made? Travis thought he finally had someone to rely on, but that changed all in one night.

The one night he needed Sal the most, he was gone. Gone to some prison, and locked away behind steel bars.

He turned back and wobbled as best as he could back to the church, almost passing out in in the middle of his walk.

𝘐𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 4 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘮𝘦. Travis thought as he lay on his mattress in his barren room, his wounds left untreated and his head feeling that familiar pang of hurt.